


We Hold Each Other

by SpaceVinci



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Great Big World, Happy Ending, Multi, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceVinci/pseuds/SpaceVinci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were on a break.</p><p>It was unspoken, and some days, Joly felt like he was the only one telling himself that, that the others had accepted it as a breakup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Hold Each Other

Karaoke night is a sort of tradition among the ABC. It was Grantaire's idea, to absolutely nobody's surprise, that once a week the group assemble for a night of fun and questionable singing skills. It is on these nights that Grantaire will serenade Enjolras, who is pretending not to enjoy himself, or that Marius and Cosette will sing a cheesy duet, or that Eponine will croon a heartbroken melody and refuse to make eye contact with anyone.

Karaoke night is fun. Supposed to be fun, anyway.

On this particular night, Musichetta and Bossuet sit on opposite sides of the room. The tension is tangible, but one look at Joly's face — he's propped against his cane dead center on the stage, sporting an expression of pain indicating the worst of it is emotional, not physical — and anyone who might have asked what was wrong is silenced.

"I'll be singing Hold Each Other by Great Big World," Joly announces solemnly. He turns to Bahorel, manning the iPhone, and nods.

Bahorel cues up the track.

* * *

"They're assholes," Musichetta reminded Bossuet, "and you shouldn't listen to them."

Bossuet nodded, visibly forcing himself not to turn back towards the bar and cast one final, threatening glare to the jeers that followed him, Musichetta, and Joly.

Joly leaned his weight against Bossuet, easing up on the cane and gazing up at him. "Assholes, darling," he reiterated.

The group at the bar had had some choice words to say about the nature of their relationship. Among other things, the outburst labeled Bossuet a freak, Joly a fag, and Musichetta a slut.

Musichetta was used to it. Joly was too worried about Bossuet to care.

Bossuet was furious.

The fury subsided the farther they brought Bossuet from the bar. He was too drunk, evidently, to hold onto his anger, and fell instead into a brooding silence.

"What if they're right," he mumbled eventually.

Musichetta stiffened. "About what?"

"Not, not about you two," Bossuet stammered, "not about — well not that I — maybe — I don't know. It's stupid."

Joly frowned. "Bossuet, what are you talking about?"

"It is a bit of an odd arrangement," Bossuet giggled, weakly, as if trying to find humor in a dark and pervasive thought.

Musichetta failed to see the humor. "Does it bother you?" she snapped.

"'Chetta —" Joly began, but Musichetta cut him off.

"No, Joly, let him finish. Obviously he's got something to say he won't say sober."

Perhaps the taunts had bothered Musichetta more than she was letting on.

"No, it's just," Bossuet babbled, "it is a little weird, isn't it? Like, like we couldn't decide, or something?" Musichetta's stony silence failing to silence him, he continued, "I always supposed — used to, I guess — I'd have to choose, y'know? But it's not that — not that I'd — I'm not saying I _will_ —"

"If it comes down to a choice," Musichetta whispered, trying and failing to keep the emotion from her voice, "then you can leave me out. I'll have none of it."

Bossuet blinked on surprise, but only managed weak protest as she sucked in a shaky breath and began to walk away. A few feet off, she turned to look back at Joly, eyes searching, hoping.

Joly stayed put, too shocked to respond.

"Alright then." Musichetta's voice was barely above a breath. "Okay."

* * *

" _I miss the words we used to say_  
I miss the sounds of yesterday  
I miss the games we used to play like ohhh  
I was trapped inside a dream  
I couldn't see her next to me  
I didn't know she'd set me free like ohhh"

Musichetta won't meet his eye. He stops trying, focusing instead on the music. If he looses himself in the melody, maybe he can ignore the way his heart is slamming against his chest, the way the tears are building against the back of his eyes.

" _Something happens when I hold her_  
She keeps my heart from getting older  
When the days get short and the nights get a little bit colder  
We hold each other  
We hold each other  
We hold each other, mmm"

* * *

Musichetta wouldn't talk to them. It wasn't something any of them spoke about, but three became two, and "us" became "you and me, Joly dear, just the two of us."

They didn't talk about it because Bossuet wouldn't.

"Hey, Bos," Joly murmured against Bossuet's chest. He hadn't looked at a clock, but it felt like midnight.

"Mmm?"

"Do you…" Joly paused, looking for the words. "Do you ever wonder, if maybe — well, what if…" he trailed off again, and this time, didn't pick up the thought.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"If this is about Musichetta," Bossuet began eventually.

"Don't you miss her?" Joly demanded. He was tired of this timid peace between them, where they could go on pretending to be happy if they ignored the pain.

"No," Bossuet asserted, too quickly and too forcefully to be believed.

"But—"

"She left us, Joly," Bossuet spit out. "Let it go."

 _I don't want to_ , thought Joly.

"She made me choose," Bossuet continued, even though they both knew that wasn't exactly what happened.

"You didn't have to choose," Joly said — no, pleaded.

Another silence.

"Would you have chosen me?" Bossuet asked. There was a sort of defiance to his voice, a crazed hope that soldiering on would make things better.

"I don't want to choose," Joly told him. "I love her. I know you love her, too."

Bossuet didn't respond.

Joly sat up, hesitant. "You didn't have to choose," he repeated.

He slept on the couch that night.

* * *

" _Everything looks different now_  
All this time my head was down  
He came along and showed me how to let go  
I can't remember where I'm from  
All I know is who I've become  
That our love has just begun like ohhh"

If Joly looks up, he'll see Bossuet's eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

He doesn't look up.

" _Something happens when I hold him_  
He keeps my heart from getting broken  
When the days get short and the nights get a little bit frozen  
We hold each other  
We hold each other  
We hold each other, mmm"

* * *

They were on a break.

It was unspoken, and some days, Joly felt like he was the only one telling himself that, that the others had accepted it as a breakup.

He still saw them at meetings, but he no longer sat with Bossuet, laughing and making flirtatious conversation, he no longer made a game of catching Musichetta's attention and making her giggle. He sat, and he listened.

The other students tried to ask what had happened, but Joly always shook his head, forced a smile, choked out, "We'll be fine."

They stopped asking, eventually.

His aches and pain got worse, or maybe he was just focusing on them more to keep his attention off of the situation. He relied on his cane more, didn't go out as much, stayed in bed most of the time. He started skipping meetings so he wouldn't have to see them.

It didn't help. They inhabited his dreams.

He wouldn't have come to karaoke at all if it hadn't been for Grantaire.

"You're coming tomorrow night, right?" Grantaire asked, cheeks pink from the contents of the bottle in his hand.

Joly hesitated. "R, I'm not sure I—"

Grantaire stuck a finger over his mouth, hushing him. "You don't have a choice!" he reminded Joly merrily. "You can't stay holed up the whole day. If I have to drag you out of the house, I will."

The threat was delivered cheerfully enough, but there was an edge of seriousness to it that caught Joly off guard.

"Alright, I'll come," he agreed before he could stop himself.

"Good!" Grantaire beamed. "I'm thinking I might sing something from Rent this time. Garçon! Wine and beer!"

* * *

" _I never thought there'd be someone for me_  
Another soul to share my story  
Nobody loves me like you love me  
Nobody loves me like you love me  
We'll close our eyes and the walls will shatter  
With open hearts we can see what matters  
Nobody loves me like you love me  
Nobody loves me like you love me"

He takes a shallow breath, preparing himself. He's modified the next bit, he has to remember the words right, keep his eyes fixed on the base of the microphone so he wouldn't look up and loose control.

" _Something happens when you hold me_  
You keep my heart from getting lonely  
When the days get short  
And the nights get out of control, we  
Hold each other  
We hold each other  
We hold each other, mmm"

He glances up, unable to stop himself.

Musichetta's expression is too complex to read, all pain and hurt and confusion and maybe, _maybe_ love, Joly doesn't even know anymore.

Bossuet's face is a mask.

" _We hold each other_ ," he tries, but the line ends in a hiccup, and he slowly sinks to the ground, unable to stand anymore, even with the cane.

" _We hold each other_ ," comes a clear voice. Musichetta has risen from her seat. She turns cautiously towards Bossuet, her face at once sorrowful and daring, pained and hopeful.

Bossuet stands. " _We hold each other_ ," he manages, and even from here, Joly can see the tears on his cheeks.

" _Mmm_ ," they finish, all together.

* * *

That night, they share a bed again. They share smiles again, laughter, flirtations, _love_ , and fill the hole carved in Joly's chest.

Nothing has ever felt more right.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this my best work? No. Am I proud of it? Sure, I guess. Did I get Hold Each Other stuck in my head for days because of this and thus possibly worry several small children by staring morosely and excessively out of a bus window? YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I DID.


End file.
